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Monday, April 15, 2013

Sometimes I think the images are eating my words. The more photos crowd Photoshop and Picmonkey and spill into my email and camera memory the less my brain can express with language. The Sad Fish is eating my brains like the bad zombie it is, and that with the constant tide of this last year- over a year- of my husband coming back and just barely touching before being sucked back in the dark waters. Medications, purple and blue and white, voodoo magic, I will prick each finger and bleed if it worked. I'd eat bananas for each meal. I'd make brussel sprouts my only vegetable for the rest of my life. I'd lose a hand. I really would, for a lifetime reprieve for him. For us.

You must think of anything elseYou can't think of anything elseYou must think of everything elseYou can't think of anything elseYou must think of them.So you do.

There are bright flashes of other moments but overall there is just the enormous knowledge that what I'm doing isn't working to end this depression and that seeming good enough for everyone else isn't enough even though- even though- it's so much better than NOT being good enough for everyone else, and of course by everyone else I mean my four kids. I've been doing things that have helped- regular exercise for two months now- low sugar, little infusions of good, like TED talks or a funny movie- but at this point I need more. So I'm thinking maybe a support group. Looking into it. I don't want to have to up my medication, I'm on 25 zoloft now, but if I have to, I will. I guess. Blah.

I am constantly thinking of the good, beautiful and the love, but I can't feel it.That is depression. And everyone who has lost someone knows, an absence hurts. A void has it's own kind of pain that is not like a direct blow, but just as disabling over time.I am following the Buddhist way and accepting how I feelBecause apparently I have to learn over and over and over and over that fighting the good fight isn't always a sign of strength- sometimes it's a sign of fear, and the bravest thing I can do is admit, surrender, and take care.Ahoy mates. I surrender.Listening to THIS " The Sun Is Gonna Shine Again " Steve Martin and Edie Brickell

The Mr. & Mrs.

Someone may have stolen your dream when it was young and fresh and you were innocent. Anger is natural. Grief is appropriate. Healing is mandatory. Restoration is possible. -Jane Rubietta

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"Her looks fading, the vain Lispector became increasingly reclusive and demanding. Addicted to cigarettes and sleeping pills, she exhibited erratic and sometimes imperious behavior. She would call friends in the middle of the night and flee dinner parties for little apparent reason. She had a reputation for being a liar."-<em>NYT on Clarice Lispector

My dear child, who can tell? One can only tell that, by remembering something which happened where we lived before; and as we remember nothing, we know nothing about it; and no book, and no man, can ever tell us certainly.

Some couples don’t ask much of one another after they’ve worked out the fundamentals of jobs and children. Some live separate intellectual and cultural lives, and survive, but the most intense, most fulfilling marriages need, I think, to struggle toward some kind of ideological convergence. Norman Rush